Beneath A Moonless Sky
by BuckyBuck Barnes
Summary: The Chief, the Centre, and the Guide. All shared one thing in common other than their passion for justice... Angela Tuorae.
1. I'd Have Followed Anywhere You Led

With looks so fierce and sharp, one would assume their chief would most certainty be inable to feel such emotions as joy or love. Unbeknownst to most, Enjolras was actually capable of feeling these particular feelings that he had so often repudiated.

Yet it was moments like this that had almost enthralled him to the life so many others comported: the thrill of intoxication, the undeniable pleasure that proceeded interaction, the significant moments in life that one was required to speculate. Yes, indeed he was aware of his female suitors that remained relentless and vigilant at his every move. In fact, he had even began to feel pity towards them. Their pursuit was quite tiresome to say the least, for the young lawyer was capable of being terrible. Though behind this constant facade, Enjolras was haunted by the ghosts of his past, the regrets of tomorrow, and the want for redemption.

This moment, in question, was one that he would later look upon with such fondness and gratitude beyond reasoning. The sole memory of her dazzling eyes blazed in the back of his mind, her perspectives never ceasing to enlighten. So, as you could presume, he was quite perplexed when he caught sight of a familiar mess of hair walking in-hand with a beautiful girl towards the Musain.

"Courfeyrac, you sly devil! You nearly startled him to death! I have yet another doubt that my father will be quite uneased that you are to be escorting me to this so-called dinner," noted the girl, gently leaning her head against the student's shoulder. Courfeyrac chuckled, nodding his head in mock disappointment.

"Why, perhaps you should not have expected that behavior of me! These great expectations are somewhat surpassing... Do you think that highly of myself?"

His companion paused, stopping dead in her tracks.

"Yes... I do. I am rather unsure of this Courfeyrac... but I suppose that there's something in the air," she trailed off, fiddling with the fabric of her pale blue cloak. Sensing her discomfort, Courfeyrac gently lifted her chin to meet his eyes.

Perturbed by this show of public affection, Enjolras turned from the window of the café. Distractions could not be afforded, nonetheless the memories stirring in the back of his mind. Was this masquerade suicidal? Would his lack of affection lead him to such a life of isolation- No. France was his lover, justice his lone passion... No more, and yet no less. The fall of Louis-Philippe's reign of injustice was nearing, disrupting the peace. Amidst this chaos, it was his responsibility to rally the people, assemble the men, call them to arms, and bring them to line... Yet an unfavorable feeling erupted in the pit of his stomach, stirring unfathomable thoughts.

Feigning impassiveness, Enjolras strode through the crowds of students, descending down the old, wooden staircase. "Courfeyrac, you're late," he interrupted, his stride confident as he stood to the side of the couple. The woman froze, eyes widened at the sound of his voice.

"I should have know that you'd be here," she managed, slightly trembling with each syllable, refusing to meet his eye. "This whole arrangement bears your stamp," the gamine articulated, mustering any courage she still possessed to look into his eyes. His blue eyes that divulged lust, anger, betrayal, and sadness beyond capacity.

"Angela," Enjolras tried, recognizing her face in an instant. "Angela Tuorae."

She flinched at his touch, glaring at up at him. "Let us go, Courfeyrac. We musn't associate with dishonest, vulgar, sneeze-lurkers," she spat, taking the confused student's hand.

"I wouldn't go that way, mademoiselle. Look at the clouds, and try to tell me there is not a storm brewing," the leader enunciated, stressing emphasis on his last sentence. Angela frowned in disdain, glancing up at Courfeyrac for guidance.

"He's right, Angela. It's too dangerous for you-"

"Too dangerous for me?" she exclaimed, throwing her arms up in exasperation. Gathering her gown, she furiously marched past the two revolutionaries into the Café Musain.

"I'll just skip the introductions... assuming you already know each other."


	2. Too Urgent To Deny

And so, it began: soft, winsome flurries that thrilled the students to a... certain extent.

"We'll freeze to death!" cried Joly, rushing to find a flag somewhere. Surprisingly, much to their derision, not a flag was in sight that winter day. And so, the white powder undulated to the wind's stipulation, the hazardous duo taking away the subdued light of the lit candles. Darkness greeted the students, stirring a rouse of commotion and protest as they each searched to find a stray match. Amidst this chaos, not to mention Joly frantically searching for something to cover the window with, the trio rushed into the café. Madame Houcheloup, Matelote, and Gibelote awaited them, quickly locking the doors before the cold could seize the stranded customers. Flushed, Angela flashed the occupants of the room a quick smile, before running up the ancient, rickety staircase that led to the backroom.

"Women," Courfeyrac offered to Madame Houcheloup, who in turn hit him upside the head with her towel. "Go on! Follow her!" the widower urged, nodding up the stairs. Without hesitating, Enjolras was trailing behind Angela, desperately calling her name. "Angela! Angela wait!"

"Wait for what, Enjolras? Another one of your deliberate lies? Wait for you to reassure the impossible? Pardon me monsieur, but I beg to differ!"

Stopping in her tracks and spinning on the heel of her foot, Angela came to a realization. "I loved you," she declared with much operose, fighting the forthcoming tears. Courfeyrac froze upon hearing this confession, pain overcoming his senses. His heart ached for her embrace, yet knowing she had longed for another man, a man whom he had respected... he was unsure of what to make of the situation. Seeing this in his comrade's eyes, Enjolras forced himself to push aside the unwanted feelings that had inevitably started to bloom. "I am sorry, Angela," he found himself saying, stepping closer in an attempt to conciliate his flame. Yet, a poignant thought made him start to doubt whether he should further interfere. She was not his flame anymore... Her place was in another's embrace.

"I mean no harm..." Enjolras spoke, clearing his throat as he stepped to the side. "Courfeyrac, alert the others. We must secure the ammunition before-" "Too late."

The three turned to see Marius at the top of the stairs, eyes narrowed at the stranger. "It can't be! Angela?"

Courfeyrac huffed in annoyance, crossing his arms. "Dear god, not again," he muttered, pushing past Enjolras towards Angela. Gently taking hold of her shoulders, he whispered reassuring promises in her ear while guiding her towards an empty side room that was used to store various items.

"Speak, Marius," Enjolras ordered, turning towards the love-struck man. Marius watched as Angela walked away once more, before acknowledging the leader.

"The snow has damaged a quarter of our ammunition. Combeferre and Joly have been searching for something to cover the window; Alas, we can not find anything," Marius explained, recalling the chaos he had just experienced. Enjolras sighed, running a hand through his curls.

"It is a small window, correct? How has the snow reached our ammunition?"

Marius shuffled his feet nervously, murmuring something incomprehensible.

"What did you say, Pontmercy?"

"I may have thrown snow at Éponine... Yet the snow hit Grantaire... And now we're at war..." he trailed off, suddenly finding the floor interesting to the point of exhilaration. Enjolras groaned, shaking his head in disappointment.

"Must I always have to-"

"Marius, please," a soft voice sounded, causing both revolutionaries to turn abruptly. Angela stood with Courfeyrac, a fabric grasped in her outstretched hand. "You say the window is small," she started, sparing a glance at Courfeyrac, yet refusing to look at Enjolras. He scoffed, folding his arms, Angela continuing to ignore him. "Take it."

Uncertainly, Marius accepted the cloak, giving a smile in return, before rushing into a nearby room.

Smirking slightly, she turned to Courfeyrac. "You never told me you knew Marius," she lightly scolded, looking up into his warm chocolate eyes. He laughed sheepishly, staring lovingly at her.

"You never asked."


	3. Blind In The Dark

"Alas, 'tis I! The frienchiest fry of them all," mocked Grantiare, abruptly standing up as he finished his bottle with one last swig. Éponine snickered, hiding her amusement as she and Marius gingerly set the cloak around the broken window.

"I assure you voleur, I know nothing of your revolution, nor do I plan on knowing... In fact, menteur, I shall never recall you or your golden locks ever again. They're dead to me, as are you, mon ange de la musique," Angela declared, stepping into the dark room. She paused, turning to the men behind her.

"Enjolras? Courfeyrac? I dare say so myself, but there seems to be a misunderstanding. You see, I don't particularly follow revolutionaries into dark, quiet rooms. So if you excuse me, I shall take it upon myself to escort myself back to the Rue Plumet-"

"Angela? Why it can't be-"

"Joly? Oh Joly, I've certainly missed you," Angela cried, holding onto Joly as if she were desperately clutching onto her old life. In a perspective, she certainly was.

"Surely fate is trying to decrease my chances," Courfeyrac sighed, leaning against the near table. Combeferre fumbled for the match, quickly striking it, illuminating the vast space. Unlike previous meetings, only eight of the Les Amis had been able to attend, Gavroche and Éponine tagging alongside Marius. So, as one could suspect, Grantaire had taken advantage of this new space, devoting a whole table to various wines and novels. At this section, sat Gavroche, attempting to read an American political pamphlet. Indeed he struggled, his brow creasing as his eyes swept the paper. Embarrassed, he pretended to turn the pamphlet over once more, refusing to show defeat.

Marius watched the reunion, unaware of Éponine's mournful eyes that seemed to beg him for affection and mercy. Some days it seemed as if she was truly isolated, nowhere to turn, no one to go to... Without a home, without a friend, without a face to say hello to. Frowning in realization, her fantasies overcame her, forcing her to sit by the windowsill. Éponine leaned her head against the wall, knowing no matter how hard she suffered, still there were dreams that cannot be.

Finally breaking away from Joly, Angela faced the occupants of the room, slightly curtsying.

"Bonjour les amis. Il est en effet un plaisir de faire votre connaissance," Angela greeted, smiling towards Éponine and Combeferre.

"Pareillement, Mademoiselle."

Shocked, almost everyone turned to see Grantaire stagger across the room, a genuine smirk settled across his features. He outstretched his hand, thoroughly shaking hers.

"Grantaire is the name, Mademoiselle," he introduced, offering a grin. Angela stiffed her laughter, flashing a bright smile at the man. Enjolras glared at the drunk, watching as the rest of the Les Amis returned to their previous doings.

"Angela Tuorae at your service, Monsieur," she replied, bowing her head down a bit to hide her blush. Despite the brandy on his breath, Angela couldn't help but find him somewhat attractive... Eyes widening at the thought, she spared a glance at Courfeyrac who seemed to be helping a young child. A smile found its way onto her face, Grantaire mistaking this as a sign to advance.

"Say, have you by any chance familiarity with a book titled Pride and Prejudice?"

Angela grasped his hands in excitement, her previous demeanor of hesitance long gone.

"You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you," Angela recited, looking up at him for an approval of sorts. In return, Grantaire's smile widened as the two passionately conversed in a heated discussion regarding their common interest in literature.

"I wish only you were dead to me as well, mon ange de la musique," Enjolras murmured wistfully, staring at the map ahead

 **Chapter Translations-**

 _Voleur_ \- Thief

 _Menteur_ \- Liar

 _Bonjour les amis. Il est en effet un plaisir de faire votre connaissance_ \- Hello, friends. It is indeed a pleasure to meet you

 _Pareillement_ \- Likewise


End file.
